The Lost Type
by Electric Smile
Summary: "Have you ever seen your entire future erased by a misguided attempt to create it?" On the night of his mother's wedding, Vega has a conversation with a stranger. A boredom tm productions in association with too much time on my hands incorporated.


_In order to avoid confusion for anyone unfamiliar with my writing, I tend to treat the name 'Vega' as a pseudonym, a fake identity adopted after the death of his mother. His 'real' name in my fics is Andres. I have a few different reasons for doing it but they require a lot of explaining and I'm sure you could care less. _

* * *

A wedding was supposed to be a good thing. Something a person could be happy about. That wasn't really working for him right now. Maybe because he had an insight into the event that others didn't. It was the first time it ever really struck him just how fake these people could be. He watched as socialites and the rest of the upper crust danced slowly to old music, as polite chatter added a layer of nonsensical drone to the soundscape. It was extravagant. And that in itself did not disturb him. It was the manufactured feeling, the fact that he knew what this was really all about, and how much, for the first time in his life, he disagreed with his mother on something this important. It was a destablising feeling, realising that the person you looked up to in life could be wrong about things, major things.

His mother's view on marriage were a little jaded. She didn't love this man, and he knew it because she'd told him so many times. "This is temporary, Andres," she'd explained to him when this man first started sniffing around. "The world can only take so much from you before it is your turn to take from it." A reference to his biological father, who he'd never really known. The haziest of memories, warped by what little pieces of information his mother could give him before becoming to embittered to continue. He'd gone looking once for whatever evidence he could of the man's existence, but found nothing in their home. All he knew is that his father had left them, and his mother had never been the same since.

He wondered if this new man was anything like his father. Had his father also been a chauvinistic animal? Had his father also touted his classist views without much shame? Had his father also been borderline alcoholic? Violent, abusive? If so, he could not understand what his mother had seen in him. But then, maybe that wedding had been manufactured as well, given his mother's inability to say anything positive of him. "The only good thing your father gave me was you," she'd said, and it was the closest he'd ever heard to a compliment.

With the news of his mother's engagement, people would often approach him, offering congratulations. "You must be happy, to have a strong male role model entering your life," some would say. He knew the polite thing to do was to thank them and move on. It ate at him, to have to be this way. To have an image to uphold. He wouldn't want to make his mother look bad, although she herself touted a philosophy of never apologising for who you were, for always speaking your mind. Some people found it brave of her, others called her cold and unsympathetic. "You can't please everyone," she would advise him, "but you can at least please yourself." He didn't find that selfish of her. He knew she wasn't-she'd done everything she could for him, and he appreciated all of it. He tried hard to appreciate what she was doing now, sacrificing her own comfort and beliefs in order to continue to put him through school, to keep him fed and clothed and sheltered. He'd tried over and over to tell her not to do this, that he was not worth what this could end up doing to her as a person, but she refused. He came first, and he hated himself for it. He'd rather be homeless than see her married to this man.

"What a beautiful ceremony," he heard a woman say to his mother. He wanted to tell her to watch her own mother kiss a pig and see how beautiful she thought it was.

His mother thanked the woman for the compliment. He winced a little as he saw the old monster pull his mother to his side. Like yanking a dog by its collar to heel. "I do enjoy entertaining."

"Well, Mireia, I'd say you have your hands full with two men to keep tabs on now," the husband of the woman said with a smirk.

"Is that a man over there? I couldn't tell for all of that hair," the man said, under the guise of playful ribbing. Andres knew better, having heard numerous threats to how he'd wake up one morning with a proper haircut, because the man did not want to be seen in the company of scruffy 'artist-types'. His hair was not even unusually long, the slightly curled ends just brushing the stiff collar of his dress shirt.

"I suppose I'm just enjoying the fact that I still have plenty," Andres replied with a shrug. He didn't miss the threat in the man's eyes-keep it up, boy, I dare you. There was some polite laughter, continuing on the assumption that it was all friendly jokes and not vitriol being disguised as such, and the conversation continued.

"Where do you plan to celebrate afterwards?" the woman asked. Andres wanted her to stop talking.

"Paris," the man said, a hint of disdain in his voice.

"Oh, but you could go there any time you wanted. It isn't that far."

"It was her decision," the man replied with a shrug.

"We could travel anywhere, any time we wanted," his mother responded. "Of all the places I've ever visited, I have the fondest memories of Paris." He fiddled with the end of the napkin on the table. His mother had taken him to Paris when he'd begun to express a major interest in art and aesthetics. Now she was going there for a fake honeymoon to make fake love to a fake husband. This was getting to weigh on him too heavily.

"That's as sensible a reason to visit a place as any," the woman said. "To share old memories with a new love." That was it. The feeling of being erased had been vocalised, but with fond and overly sappy sentiments instead of sadness and disappointment.

"You'll have to excuse me," Andres muttered, leaving his coat on the back of his chair as he stood from the table.

"Take your time," his new step-father said. Or ordered, if one listened with the right set of ears.

Andres navigated the sea of now-happy couples, old passions reignited by the witnessing of a 'new love'. Congratulations and compliments on the ceremony were thrown his way and disregarded, causing no end of indignant responses. He didn't care anymore, he could not keep up with the charade. He was feeling trapped in here. His life was rapidly spiraling out of control, and he had nothing to cling too anymore to put it back on the right track. He would become an outsider in his own family. Who did he have now, once his mother returned firmly in the iron grasp of her new husband?

He pushed open the door, stepping into the cool night air. He had to get away from this. This celebration of the end of his life. He looked to the beach. It was a far cry from the comfort and familiarity of his home, but it would do for now. A brisk walk through soft sand turned to a jog, and then to an all out sprint. He let the droning of the waves crashing against the shore fill his head. He didn't want anything else in it right now. He ran as fast as he could push himself, wanted the burning in his lungs, in the muscles of his legs, to fill the rest of the senses that the waves couldn't. With a ragged and angry cry he fell into the wet sand on his back, not caring as he felt it soak through the vest and into shirt. He covered his face with his hands, squeezed his eyes shut, and then ran the fingers into his hair. He managed a brief, ironic laugh. Money solved nothing, it only served to complicate things.

"Are...are you okay there?" He was startled at the slightly-timid voice, having thought the beach to be vacant at this time of year and day. "Do you need help?"

"Are you a time traveler?" he asked. The girl who looked to be roughly his age looked confused, but shook her head all the same. "I don't think you can do anything, then."

"I just saw you fall. I thought maybe you hurt yourself, running like that. And you shouted."

He was hurt, but not in any way that any one could do a thing about. "Have you ever seen your entire future erased by a misguided attempt to create it?"

"You sound like you've had a rough night," the girl said. He sat up, and looked out in front of him. Far off points of light floated on the water.

"My mother married today." He expected her to say something about how he should be happy for her. How it must be nice to feel like a whole family again.

"That must be difficult to adjust to." The girl had at least picked up on that. "Why aren't you with her now?" She squatted down before sitting in the sand a few feet from him. She'd been taught to be cautious of strangers, and wasn't going to let her guard down. But she recognised someone in need of a person to talk to all the same.

"He is." He drew in a breath, rolled his eyes at himself for his vague statement. "The man she's marrying, I mean."

"That's no reason for you to not be with her," the girl replied. "You're still a part of her life, right?"

"That's just the thing," he said with a bitter smile. "She's doing this for me. She doesn't love this man. She just wants to support me." He groaned a little as he ran his fingers through his hair again, looking up with that bitter smile still on his face. "I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet."

The girl was quiet for a second. "I'm sure you aren't."

"You don't even know me. Maybe I eat children for breakfast."

The girl giggled at the absurdity of the statement, and the seriousness with which it'd been said. "No. My father works in law enforcement. I've seen, close to first hand, some pretty awful people." She glanced over at the boy. He was very attractive, even under duress and with sand in his hair. "You don't look the type."

"What type do I look like?"

She hadn't expected the question, but contemplated it all the same. She squinted at him as he glanced from the water, to her, back to the water. "You're..." She thought hard as she formulated the words. "You're the lost type. You aren't very confident, which is a shame, because it's difficult to overcome. You want your life to go somewhere, but you don't know how to do it, or where exactly you want it to go. Your mother getting married just made all of that even more difficult for you. She was your closest friend, which maybe some people find childish, but it really isn't, because at the end of the day, sometimes your family is all you have. And you don't want to lose that." He stared at the sand while she spoke. He certainly hadn't been expecting such an insightful and depressingly accurate answer.

"You've...um, done that before."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," she said quickly, noticing his demeanor. "One of my father's partners majored in psychology. He was very good at reading people. I learned a lot from him."

"Must be useful."

"Maybe. You try," she said, trying to get his mind off of how much she'd just upset him. He glanced up at her. How exactly was he supposed to figure her out as well as she just had him? All he knew was that she was good at talking to strangers, and asked a lot of questions.

"You're a curious person?" he offered.

She smiled and nodded. "Good start. Keep trying."

With the encouragement, he thought harder. "You've mentioned your father a lot. You look up to him?"

She nodded again. "My mother died when I was very young. My father has been all I've had ever since. My closest friend. Sort of like you and your mother," she said with a smile. "So we have something in common-strong familial bonds."

He snorted as he ran out of guesses. "I'm nowhere near as insightful as you."

"Well, you just have to learn it," she said with a shrug. "Not bad for a first try though. Don't beat yourself up so much because you aren't the best at something the first time you try it."

"I'm not," he bristled, a little irritated with the accusation. "What are you even doing out here anyway?"

She shrugged. "I like the beach. We're only here for a couple of weeks, and even if it is during the middle of winter, I won't let that ruin this for me."

"Where are you from?"

"China. But my dad travels a lot for his work."

"Do you like that? Traveling?"

She shrugged. "I think it makes me more adaptable."

"Is that a dig at me?" he snapped.

"No," she answered. "Don't take everything so personally. It was just a statement."

He looked at the sand again, a little embarrassed. "I've gotten so used to reading between the lines for insults. I didn't even realise I was doing it."

She frowned. "Who would insult you?" She didn't know him, so maybe he was a jerk who deserved to be insulted. But she wasn't really picking up on that so far. Maybe a little hot-headed, but who wasn't sometimes?

"My step-father." She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't like the competition, I guess. You have no idea how many times he's threatened to send me to school on the other side of the world. To throw me out on the streets just so he could have 'some peace and quiet'." He rolled his eyes.

"Well that sounds awful," the girl said. "Why don't you tell someone?"

"How would that reflect on my mother?"

"He doesn't talk to her that way?"

"Not as much. He gets irritated with her because she doesn't get irritated with me."

"Has he ever hurt you?"

He was quiet for a second. Of course he did. The picture wouldn't be complete without it. "No," he said.

"You aren't a good liar."

"It's nothing serious. He pushes me, I push back."

"Any abuse is serious," she said, not buying it.

"This isn't. I like that he gives me an excuse," Andres replied.

"You shouldn't want violence in your life. It won't take you anywhere positive."

"I didn't ask for it," he snapped. "And I'm not going to take it sitting down."

"You should tell someone."

"It's not worth it." He picked up a handful of sand and let it slide through his fingers back to the ground. "I'm not going to put my mother in the middle of another scandal."

"What do you mean?"

"When my father left her, that gave people things to gossip about for months. She withdrew from everyone, giving them even more to talk about. It ruined her life. She's just starting to put it back together, and I'm not going to be the one to ruin it for her," he answered.

"I think your mother would understand if it meant keeping you from physical danger," the girl said, shaking her head. "No one's image is so important that they should put it before the safety of another person."

"Image is _everything _in this society."

"Then maybe you need to find a different society," she said simply with a shrug. He stared at her for a second. She couldn't fathom the impact of the words she'd tossed out so carelessly. A tense silence passed before she broke it. "It's getting late. I need to go before my father starts to worry. Please, just think about what I've said?"

He nodded slowly, and it seemed to satisfy her.

"I hope things get better for you."

"Don't feel sorry for me," he replied, showing only a fraction of the irritation the idea caused him.

"I'm not," she said as she stood up and wiped the sand from the back of her jeans. "Good night!" she called over the wind as she retreated back to the beach side hotel. He watched her walk away for a second before returning his eyes to the shore. Then, he fell back into the sand and closed his eyes. He had a lot more to think about now, because of this talk with a stranger. They hadn't even given each other their names, but had spoken as if they knew each other. He didn't know why he told her private things like his difficult relationship with his step-father, but he didn't quite regret it either. He thought of her assessment of him, and opened his eyes. He wasn't going to be a victim of circumstance. He was the only one in control of his life. With that in mind, he stood up, and headed back to the reception in order to prove it.


End file.
